The Word of God

by Christopher Cummings

  Cautiously Peter raised himself and looked, just in time to see the heads of the searchers vanish down the slope. He raised himself higher and saw that the lieutenant and another man were studying a map spread on the bonnet of the 4WD. The other man had a radio and notebook and was busy writing a message.

  The direction to go, at least to begin with, was obvious. Peter turned and started crawling west through the grass. Fear of snakes returned. He tried to comfort himself by thinking it was winter, so most would be in hibernation.

  Or at least a bit sluggish.

  As soon as he was fifty metres over the crest of the hill Peter stood up and started moving cautiously from tree to tree. He was still shocked by the number of men he had seen. There had been seven in one squad and eight in the other.

  And they weren’t the men I saw last night. How many of these characters are there? And who are they? What are American Confederates doing wandering around the bush in Australia?

  Off to his left he saw the road going up over another low wooded ridge. He went down through the head of a re-entrant, looking back frequently to ensure he didn’t become visible to the men at the vehicles. On the other side of the road was rainforest and he eyed that, then rejected it.

  I’ll go into that only when I have to, he decided.

  Long experience told him it would greatly slow his progress, as well as complicate his navigation. As he went slowly up the slope he heard the distinctive buzz of an aero engine. A small, high wing monoplane flew into view from the South West. It was flying quite low, only a few hundred feet above the trees. As light aircraft were quiet common over North Queensland Peter merely glanced up as it passed over and then thought no more about it.

  Five minutes later he was out of sight over the next hill. With every step he began to feel safer. He was also cheered by the presence of the truck.

  That means the others have been unloaded somewhere nearby. Now where?

  An image of Joy’s face floated in the front of his mind and he decided he was in love, and that he would try to rescue her, come what may!

  The country now changed to a mixture of rainforest and forest with an undergrowth of bushes, ferns and weeds. It became increasingly difficult to move quietly and he had to push through the long grass, heedless of whether there might be snakes there or not.

  It was at that stage that he discovered the first leech. It was worming its way up his right sleeve. He idly flicked it off, then paused to check for others. At once he discovered he was infested with them. Some were gorged and had already dropped off. Others had been feasting for quite a while and were repulsive bloated slugs. He plucked them off then moved to a small clearing and removed his jacket. Four were under his right armpit and he had bites all over his chest.

  “Bloody hell! They must have been feasting on me all night!” he grumbled. He searched himself, even finding them inside his trousers, socks and boots. One was lodged behind his left ear and there were two in his hair. Annoyed and disgusted he pulled them off and flicked them away with a shudder. He knew they weren’t really harmful but they were such slimy repulsive things he couldn’t help being disgusted and repelled by them. It took a good ten minutes to divest himself of the last leech.

  While he was engaged in this chore Peter heard the light plane again. It came into view flying low up the valley on his left.

  He’s flying low. I wonder why? A suspicion formed: Is it searching for something; or for me?

  He watched it bank and fly low back down the valley out of sight. As he buttoned up his jacket Peter detected another leech crawling up his front. He flicked it off with his fingers. “Slimy little bugger! Clear off!” he muttered. It was obviously one of the local leeches moving in to try their luck. He shrugged and then checked the water bottles hopefully.

  “No water. I’ll be in trouble soon, particularly if it heats up like yesterday.” he told himself. Anxiously he licked dry lips and noted that he had been sweating. He was also uncomfortably aware that he was incredibly grimy, his skin grained with dirt and soot. He rubbed the stubble on his chin and wished he could clean up.

  “I’d better find a creek,” he told himself. Then another thought came to him.

  I wonder if Gwen has any food in her webbing?

  A quick search of her webbing found a tin of fruit in the right pouch. Better still, in the left pouch was the Beretta. Peter took it out and gently turned it over, feeling the smoothness of the cold metal. It was a deadly looking little gun. Just holding it made him remember the saying he had read once to the effect that the mere possession of a weapon changed a man’s attitude and personality.

  And that is right, he decided.

  He suddenly felt more powerful and more able to cope. After checking that the pistol was cocked and on safe he slipped it back into the pouch. Then he sat and ate the tin of fruit, flicking off the occasional leech which tried to crawl onto him. As he did he glimpsed the light plane above the trees off to the South East.

  Definitely searching; probably for me. Have these Confederates got a bloody air force as well? What is going on? he wondered.

  He checked his watch. “Seven O’clock. I’d better make a move,” he muttered. But which way? And to do what? Logic told him to get to the nearest phone and call the police. But which way was the nearest. He seemed to be on top of a mountain range. He had never been there before but thought it was the range of mountains which ran down the western side of the Atherton Tablelands. He could even see glimpses of open farmland out to the east. These looked to be a long way off and the searching ‘Confederates’ were between him and there.

  Peter decided to go on the way he was going. The mountains are only ten or twenty kilometres across. If I keep going this way I should come out somewhere near Herberton, he reasoned.

  That settled he pushed on. The scrub got even thicker but he still avoided the road for fear of leaving boot prints. His thirst grew rapidly worse as the air heated up and he knew he would be in trouble in a few hours. He also had to wage a constant battle with the leeches. Once he glimpsed the tail of a black snake slide into a clump of grass and that made him sick with fear for a while. However he forced himself to push on. He felt very alone and frightened.

  Soon after seeing the snake he came to the edge of a small clearing. The road changed direction, going downhill to the west. At that point there was an odd little hut made of semi-circular sheets of corrugated iron. Peter scouted carefully in case there were people there. The place appeared deserted but he gave it a wide berth anyway, skirting around well out in the forest.

  After crossing an overgrown timber track he encountered rainforest. As he did not want to lose the road he shrugged with resignation and pushed into the jungle. Gwen had a pair of secateurs on her belt and he took these out and used them to snip away any tendrils of wait-a-while that snagged at him. The rainforest held no terrors for him and he slipped through it quietly at a slow walk. From time to time he checked his direction with his compass. It varied from North West to West.

  The road led downhill so he moved parallel to it about twenty metres in. After a few hundred metres the road reached the bottom and abruptly turned to South West going uphill. Peter had been hoping to find a creek at the bottom and was quite disappointed. He licked dry lips and felt his skin. He had stopped sweating and he felt hot. His eyes felt gritty and blurred from time to time and he knew he was on the edge of heat exhaustion.

  He began to contemplate heading off down the mountain in search of water but feared it could be a long walk. Hoping to find some he continued on. The road went up for fifty metres, then turned right and skirted around the side of the slope.

  Two hundred paces on Peter found what he sought; water. It was only a trickle but it was flowing. Moving carefully and quietly he went downhill for thirty metres till he found a pool just large enough to dip the water bottles into. With a sigh of relief and a prayer of thanks he took off the webbing and knelt to wash his face and drink. It was a typical jungle stre
am, clear and cold and tasting of rotting vegetation. He ignored that and thankfully drank. Then he rinsed his mouth and washed his face and arms.

  Feeling much refreshed Peter carefully filled the water bottles, allowing the water to flow in slowly so as not to get too many floating ‘objects’ in it. It was also a good opportunity to de-leech himself again. It was good to be able to wash off some of the blood and grime. Only when he had done so did it occur to him that maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea. The dirt had been effective camouflage.

  Peter shrugged and decided on balance the lift to his morale was worth more. He had a big drink, refilled the water bottle and prepared to move again. There was a chocolate in the back pack and he ate this. By then it was after 8 O’clock. The sun was well up, blazing down from a clear blue sky. The early freshness was gone from the air although it was still cooler in the rainforest.

  Peter began moving along beside the road. This became quite difficult because of the tangle of tall grass, weeds and bushes which grew there. He was tempted to walk along the road but a look at it decided him that would be foolish. The surface was now dust and sand.

  My boots will leave very distinctive tracks, he reasoned.

  Hard as it was he pushed steadily on through the dense vegetation. The road went uphill. On the right was a downslope covered with bushes and blady grass. He walked through this only a few metres from the road. On the left was a thick belt of rainforest and bushes.

  Voices! And the sounds of crashing through the jungle. The sound of swearing and grumbling came to him.

  There are people moving through the jungle just on the other side of the road! he realized.

  Peter crouched down behind a bush, heart hammering with apprehension as the sounds drew closer.

  It’s a line of men searching, he decided as the noises covered quite a wide front.

  Mouth now dry with fear Peter looked around and saw that his only escape route was downhill through the long grass. He knelt down and began slowly crawling. The blady grass was awful. It scratched and was so thick it rustled and moved. He was also terrified of meeting a snake.

  Behind him he heard men move out onto the road with sighs of relief. One of them raised his voice: “OK you-all, come in here and have a drink.”

  As Peter had feared the man talking was a Confederate. More of them! They can’t possibly be the same squad as earlier. He began to feel very hunted. The whole bloody Confederate Army is searching for me! he thought.

  The word army came naturally to his mind, not just because there were a lot of them but because of their obvious organization, uniforms and rank structure. The men were so close that he did not dare move. All he could do was lie and listen; and brush off the black ants which began to fiercely attack him.

  The Confederates were obviously in a foul mood. One grumbled: “When I catch this old bugger I’m gunna shove every one of these spiky damn vines in this damn forest up his ass!”

  Another agreed: “This rainforest is a real son-of-a-bitch. It’s worse than those Chickasaw thickets along the Yazoo.”

  “Come on you guys, let’s get on with it. We ain’t goin’ home till we’ve found this guy so let’s keep lookin’. Now, remember, his hut is not far from a creek.”

  “What for did this old codger come here corporal?” another asked.

  “He and his sidekick used to come here lookin’ fer orchids,” the corporal replied, sounding exasperated.

  “What’s orchids?” the man asked.

  “Epiphytes,” a voice replied.

  “What?”

  “Bloody flowering plants what grow on tree trunks!” the angry voice answered.

  “What for would anyone want to look fer them for?” the man asked.

  “Why were you bloody born Simkins? Come on, let’s go,” the Corporal replied.

  “Where we searchin’ next Jacko?” another asked.

  “Other side of this creek, up to that little hut. Come on.”

  Peter heard them walk off along the road, still talking and grumbling. To his great relief they went back the way he had come. Cautiously he raised himself behind a tree and watched them vanish from sight around the bend.

  They aren’t looking for me at all. They are looking for some old bloke. I wonder? Could it be Old Ned? Are they somehow involved in searching for this scroll?

  It was certainly food for thought. Another idea also came to him.

  If they are walking along the road maybe I can too. My boot prints won’t be so obvious then.

  He decided to look. Cautiously he made his way to the road and decided it was worth the risk. He was getting impatient to get out of the mountains to get help. What was gnawing at him all the time was the fear of what might be happening to Joy and the others. And Gwen, what of her?

  Peter set off westwards along the road at a fast walk, eyes and ears alert, ready to take cover instantly. The road curved right around the side of the hill. The rainforest extended all the way on his left but the country the road was in became more open, with fewer trees and bushes. After a few hundred metres the road curved sharply right, then left, around the end of a low, grassy spur.

  The road then curved right and went along the top of a flat ridge. On Peter’s right was a deep valley which extended down to the open farmland in the distance. On the left was another creek but it was flowing roughly parallel and was choked with jungle.

  I’m right on top of the mountains here, Peter thought.

  He kept walking, wary of stumbling into more Confederates. As he did another aeroplane droned into view. This was higher but still tracking back and forth over the mountains. It was an old aeroplane. Peter studied it.

  A Douglas DC3, he decided. It should be in a museum. Suddenly he clicked his fingers. I’ll bet it belongs to these Confederates. That will be how they got into Australia. And it is searching too.

  The plane droned out of sight to the north. Peter marched on. He was still feeling very lonely and hunted but also very determined. There was also the heartening notion that if he was on top of the mountains every step was taking him closer to the towns and farms on the other side.

  The road curved left and went down into thicker forest, lots of small trees with an undergrowth of waist high blady grass, ferns, lantana and bushes. Near the bottom it curved back to the right.

  As he approached the bend Peter slowed and listened, then froze.

  Voices!

  Chapter 27

  JOY

  Peter immediately moved off the road into the scrub on the left of the road.

  From behind a bush he peered along the road, noting that it went down across a small creek, then up onto a low spur where there was a clearing. Parked on the right in the clearing, next to some sort of log fence, was a brown 4WD. The voices were coming from the area of the log fence.

  Without even consciously thinking about why Peter made his way forward through the long grass and ferns, skirting clumps of lantana. All the trees were either spindly eucalypts or She Oaks and none of them offered any real cover. There was plenty of undergrowth though. Once again thoughts of snakes had to be thrust to the back of the mind for him to make any sort of progress.

  As he got closer Peter angled away from the road to keep trees and bushes between him and the vehicle. He sniffed, then salivated. The aroma of frying steak came to him, along with a whiff of wood smoke. That got him staring and he saw smoke was rising slowly from somewhere among the logs.

  Looks like an old cattle yards, he decided. By the time he reached the small creek he could see that this was so. Badly overgrown though. Obviously hasn’t been used for years.

  The creek was no obstacle. It was only one pace wide and was so choked with grass and weeds that he could hardly see the water. The bank beyond the creek was also covered in a dense matt of grass, ferns and deadfall. This was nearly his undoing. As he climbed up out of the creek he stood on a fallen branch which snapped with a loud crack.

  His leg went down into a hollow under t
he long grass. That was painful as the ends of the stick scraped up his leg. But it was the thought of what manner of slithering reptile might be lurking that made Peter wrench himself free and scramble further up the bank, heedless of the noise.

  Heart pounding and mouth dry with fear Peter crouched in the long grass behind a clump of lantana. His leg stung but obviously wasn’t broken. Massaging hard to ease the pain and bruising Peter peered anxiously through the screen of leaves. He was now only about twenty metres from the 4WD, an old Toyota Land Cruiser. The voices continued, the speakers apparently not having heard him.

  A quick look around revealed that a better spot for observation was behind a fallen log a few metres to the left. Peter got down and wriggled across, checked the log for unwelcome inhabitants, then raised his head behind a bush to look. What he saw made him gasp involuntarily, mostly with satisfaction.

  A few metres in front of him was the clearing. This was only ten paces wide. The road ran across it. Parked on the other side was the brown Land Cruiser. Beyond it was the old cattle yards. They were a single yard surrounded by a log rail fence. Directly opposite was the gate, now open, at which stood an armed man. Inside at the left side was a tent fly slung over the corner. Under the tent fly were five people sitting on boxes and talking. All were Confederates. Beyond them in the other corner at that end was another tent fly with more boxes under it. Between the two flies was a fireplace. Two men stood there, one cooking and the other eating a steak sandwich.

  At the other end of the yard was an old, open-sided shed. Sitting underneath it, apparently tied up, were Joy and the others. Peter did a check: Sir Miles, Graham sitting watching the Confederates, Megan lying down, Stephen apparently relaxed, Joy leaning back on the fence. Next to her was an old man whom Peter presumed was Old Ned. Peter heaved a sigh of relief and studied Joy more closely. She appeared unhurt and even a bit bored.

  For the next ten minutes Peter lay under cover studying the layout and trying to decide on a plan.

  Eight armed men. Now, how do I catch them by surprise and rescue the others? he pondered.